


The I Dare You Game

by gerbilfluff



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Chastity Device, Coming In Pants, Dubious Consent, Ghost Sex, Light BDSM, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Panties, Size Kink, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 06:32:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3681591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerbilfluff/pseuds/gerbilfluff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fiddleford McGucket and his wife have a certain game they like to play...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The I Dare You Game

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a prompt from an anon who wanted to see Fiddleford fapping. [salutes] Can do! I got started on it beginning with what became Day 2, and the whole thing kinda, uh. Grew. A bit.
> 
> Also, credit for Gina McGucket goes to hereissomething of Tumblr!

The I Dare You Game

by Apricot the Gerbil

 

It began as a joke between them. Write down all the sexy things Gina could possibly think about her husband doing, and have Fiddleford pick one from a bowl every day for a week.

Some days there'd be markedly more stammering and blushing over what was written on those little scraps of paper than for others, but then Gina would grin down at Fiddleford with that Sphinx's smirk of hers, and brush her fingers through his unruly hair to plant a kiss on his forehead. Either way, it would happen.

\------

DAY 1

_Design a chastity cage for yourself and wear it for one full day._

\------

Stanford stiffened. "There it is again!"

Stanley set down the part of the archway he'd been dragging to the assembly site, searching the basement around them with a narrowed gaze. "Son of a hot waffle. I thought you were kiddin', but yeah, there it is!"

Fiddleford coughed nervously from his work station, eyes darting this way and that. "Come on, fellas. D'you really think there'd be ghosts around in the basement of a spooky old abandoned shack?" He thought over what he'd just said a moment, adding, "Wouldn't that be too _obvious?"_

"You heard the noises! How would _you_ explain it?" asked Stanford, turning to his assistant with a face of ultimate seriousness.

The sweat was palpable on Fiddleford's face. "I'm... just saying it might not be ghosts, is all." He shifted in his chair, unintentionally triggering another metallic _klank_ from his crotch.

"There! That was definitely metal!"

"Maybe we're dealin' with a knight!"

"Or at least someone from after the Bronze Age. Think of the possibilities!"

As the twins scrambled for their specter-hunting equipment, Fiddleford silently covered his face with his hands.

\------

DAY 2

 _Pleasure yourself while you're at work. All the way. Make sure nobody notices_.

\------

Unzipping his trousers and releasing the necessary bits involved under his desk was easy, as it turned out. Fiddleford's face was a glaring shade of red behind his glasses, but he turned to watch Stanford puttering about the lab in the background. His boss didn't seem to be paying him any mind.

He thumbed over the tip of his prick, rolling his foreskin back and forth over the tender ridge dividing the head from the shaft... breath catching as his thumbnail dragged lightly over the sensitive skin underneath, as the loose folds began to draw back from the head on their own.

He glanced over his shoulder with what he hoped looked like a casual air. Stanford had taken a seat at the work station across from him.

Fiddleford reached up to his mouth to silently lick some spittle thick across his palm, trying his damnedest to hold back a moan at his cock's fresh slippery slide in his fist.

He stared at the back of Stanford's black T-shirt there in the chair, hearing the younger man audibly chew on the plastic cap of his pen between pauses as he jotted down something or other.

_He's gigantic, just like his brother. Just imagine him sweeping you right off your feet..._

Fiddleford gave his shaft a squeeze.

_Tearing your lab coat off, your pants down, pressing you up against the control panels as he takes whatever he wants from you..._

Inching his legs wider apart, his hand slunk forward to cup and gently fondle his ballsack.

_This whole place is soundproof. Nothing you could do to stop him, even if you wanted._

_And you want it BAD, don't you_ , Stanford whispered into his ear in Fiddleford's mind's eye. Folding a six-fingered hand around the cock wagging fully stiff out of his open fly now. _Admit it. You always wondered how many fingers of mine you could take._

Droplets of sweat fell onto Fiddleford's shirt and tie from his forehead, but he paid it no heed, tugging away at the pounding hardness in his fist.

_Don't struggle. I want you to count them for me as they go in._

_One..._

_God, you're so loose..._

_T-two...!_

_Look at that, they're going in like it's nothing. How much practice at this do you have, huh?_

With a full-body shudder, Fiddleford was suddenly overcome by the urge to have something up his ass in real life. Make this _really_ taboo. He could already picture the look on his wife's face when he told her of his experiments later tonight: "And I took _the whole thing._

Fiddleford looked over his desk in desperation. Nothing to be found that would work. Not even a stray pen cap.

_You could always..._

His face turned an even deeper shade of crimson. _No. Fiddleford Hadron McGucket don't you DARE that's DISGUSTING._

_But... what else is there?_

After some hesitation, he haltingly brought his other hand behind his back to slink underneath his lab coat, prodding his pointer finger down past his underwear and into the forbidden zone. He kept an eye on Stanford's back the whole time.

_How are you going to wash it off?_

_But... I want to feel him IN me... I_ want _to feel filthy..._

He rocked his fingertip back and forth into the crack, with a quiet, wilting "ahh." feather-light on his lips as he pried himself open to his touch.

 _Five_ , he panted to the Stanford in his imagination, begging him, _Give me ALL of them, I want it, I WANT it!!_

 _My, my,_ Stanford's voice marveled proudly. _Aren't we a brave little explorer. If you insist._

Fiddleford jabbed a second fingertip in to join the first, reeling at the thought of his boss ramming in a fistful of all the digits his inner walls could possibly take, and then some. "Please yes," Fiddleford whimpered under his breath, bucking onto immaculately trimmed nails.

Stanford stirred at his station. "You hear that?" he asked.

Every muscle in the scientist's ass closed rigid around his fingertips. "H-hear what?" he asked, whipping his hand out as quick as his sphincter would let him manage, his arm stiff at his side with a guilty man's speed.

"That ghost from yesterday." Stanford frowned. "I think it's back."

"Oh... Right. The ghost," said Fiddleford, half relieved.

"Sounded like it was crying this time." Stanford pushed his glasses up on his nose, eyes darting to the far corners of the room. "See anything moving? We never found out if it was poltergeist-level or not yet!"

Fiddleford thought fast. "Guess we could check the other parts of the lab, to see what its range is?"

"Brilliant! _This_ is why I hired a mind like yours!" Stanford raved, leaping from his chair to wrestle on a pair of green infrared goggles. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"

Fiddleford watched him charge off through the doors to the next room.

Then set his head down on the desk, jerking his meat like he was being timed on it.

His hips were bucking before he even realized it, huffing against the crook of the arm not pounding his erection in his fist: "god yes give it to me, give it _so hard_ you'll write about it in your JOURNALS, _aaa. Ahh. AAHHH--"_

The cum began shaking out from his cockhead into his curled fist. A strangled noise leaked from the back of his throat, but he couldn't silence it for the life of him, any more than he could stop his wrist from throttling back and forth through those first earthquakes. Not even if Stanford were to walk back in.

In fact, the thought of Stanford seeing his assistant pleasuring himself to thoughts of him only made Fiddleford come harder. His tongue was shivering taut from his open mouth, panting at each burst of ecstasy and semen surging out of him.

 _"Uhh,"_ was all he could say, before he flopped hunched over his desk, spent and wheezing like a dying man.

Stanford walked back in. "There were some weird gusts next door, but nothing much to write home abou-- Hey, you okay?" he said, alarmed at Fiddleford's weary state.

"N-never better, believe me," Fiddleford said, smiling innocently up at his boss.

He kept his hands under his desk.

\------

DAY 3

_Slip a condom over this egg on a string I've found for you. It'll start vibrating at random. Wear it inside you all day._

\-------

"McGucket? Can I have a word with you?" Stanford asked, stopping with hands behind his back at the archway Fiddleford was marking rune distances upon with chalk.

The scientist's heart fell. _Has he found out? He thinks I'm a raging pervert, doesn't he. Am I fired?!_

Stanford's expression was firm. "I need to know if you've been feeling any... disturbances, down here."

"Disturbances?" echoed Fiddleford, raising a confused eyebrow.

Stanford's mouth pursed to a straight line. "Has anything... goosed you, when we've been in the basement?"

"Oh. You mean..." Fiddleford relaxed. "On the behind? No, I can't say I've..."

"Stanley's been hit four times now," Stanford interrupted. "He swears it's just one of us two fooling around, but _I_ sure haven't been up to anything, and you don't strike me as the type to go grabbing at young men's asses, either."

Fiddleford straightened his tie with the hand not holding his chalk, looking away. "Y-you'd be correct," he mumbled with what he hoped sounded like conviction.

"I thought so. But it's evident this is at least a Level 3 poltergeist we're dealing with. So if you feel anything out of the ordinary, you let one of us know. Okay?"

Stanford blinked at Fiddleford, who'd suddenly gone stiff where he stood. The tiniest sound of a vibe thrumming away could be heard, if one was already listening for it. "What the matter? D'you feel anything?"

 _"Ahh--_ ahhhh~," was all Fiddleford could manage, crouching in place, dropping the chalk, reaching to grab onto anything his hands could catch hold of-- anything but his sudden furious boner. The egg was snuggled up _right_ next to his prostate, damn it, _damn_ it he could barely _stand_ \--

"Tell me!" Stanford called to him. "What do you feel?"

Fiddleford could only bring his hand to his mouth to muffle the noise he made as he shuddered and came in his pants, even with Stanford there watching him. He crumpled to hands and knees, then down to the ground, rolling on his side, fists balled under his chin, moaning like the little slut he was the whole time.

The egg stopped its merciless buzzing. Just in time for Fiddleford to realize what he'd done.

"Stanford... I..." he began, looking up to him from the floor, face sweaty and maroon with embarrassment.

"Hey. It's all right! This is good-- this is _information!"_ Stanford assured him, running for the journal at his desk. He uncapped a pen with his teeth and began scribbling on a fresh page. "Continuous bodily contact with the physical world... We're definitely dealing with at least a Level 5 ghost."

"O-of course," his assistant said with a weak nod.

Stanford kept writing. "And whatever it is, it's a _raging pervert!"_

Fiddleford didn't dare say anything more.

\------

DAY 4

_Pick out the frilliest silk panties you can find and wear them all day at work._

\------

He wasn't pulling at them to get aroused, Fiddleford reminded himself. They simply _itched_. Nobody could blame him for that.

And if his new underthings tugged at his cock and balls in ways that got him so stiff he swore he was going to come right there at his desk, that wasn't his fault. Though it didn't take away the neediness Fiddleford felt straining under his trousers. Not one bit.

The silk britches he wore were really top-of-the-line; _so_ unspeakably soft and smooth, with light pink lace trimming the edges and a purple heart pattern dotting what little fabric there was. "What size does your wife take?", they'd asked him at the store this morning, and he'd about died from the blush on his face right then and there.

Fiddleford thought of that, skimming his fingers across the tented crotch of his pants, over the cool pink silk his erection was leaking wet beads against even now, and let loose a happy sigh. He was going to have to thank Gina for this idea as soon as he came home. And he'd only just gotten here...

He certainly wasn't expecting his zipper to draw down on its own. Or the button to his trousers to be yanked open by an invisible force. And _especially_ not the thick, wet, slathering feeling lapping over his hard-on through the silk.

Fiddleford cried out. The Pines Twins, both standing mere feet away by the archway, stared at him scooting back in his chair with his fly down as though he'd grown an extra head.

"Nerd. What the hell," was all Stanley said.

Fiddleford brought his hand down on what felt like a squishy blob between his legs, invisible as it may be to Stanford and Stanley. "It... _Oh...!_ Fellas! This is--!"

And he trailed off in a groan, as the mystery tongue in question licked a path up the front of his panties-- sending the swollen bulge of his hard-on flopping free out over the silk-- and up against his stomach. Right over the ticklish spot he didn't dare tell the boys about at the start of his happy trail. He twisted against the feeling, arms clutching at each other through his gasps. "I-it's not me, boys, I swear! Please, there's something-- _ah!!_ Something's _there...!"_

"The poltergeist!" Stanford exclaimed, smacking a fist into his other hand. "I _knew_ it was real!"

"Why's he wearing pink lacy underwear?!" Stanley demanded, scowling as he covered his eyes with his hands. "I did _not_ wanna have to see McGucket's dick today!"

"Using himself as bait to catch a pervert ghost... That's my Fids!" Stanford said proudly, shaking both arms in the air in triumph. "Keep him occupied! We'll be right there!" And with that, he was scrambling to grab the nearest containment field generator.

_~ twenty minutes, a wild chase, and a stocking under a box-and-string trap later... ~_

"Sorry again about your sock, Fids," said Stanford, slinging the hand mirror containing the ghost of Gravity Falls' notorious 1920s skirt-chaser Jasper "Crusty" O'Malley up against his shoulder. "I just had a hunch it'd work."

Fiddleford looked down at the argyle stocking utterly soaked in ectoplasmic goo he held limply in one hand. "Oh, it's really no problem, I mean it," he said, adding with a cough, "Glad I could, er. Help."

"And boy, did you ever!" raved Stanford. "I still can't believe you thought of that great trick to help us pinpoint the ghost!" With a toss of his head towards the hand mirror, he made his way for the staircase to the Shack's surface. "I'd better go take care of this fella. I hear exorcisms go better outside."

Stanley watched Stanford leave. Then, as his brother's last footfalls were gone, he crossed his arms and turned to Fiddleford, remarking, "You didn't plan nuthin', did you?"

Fiddleford only stammered, until Stanley grabbed his free hand and raised it... to clap it against his own in a quiet high-five. "Y'look good in pink," was all Stanley said before making his way up the steps as well, leaving the scientist shaking with embarrassment there in the basement.

"Th-thank you," Fiddleford mumbled to the empty room.

\------

There was a Day Five, Six, and Seven.

Fiddleford never remembered them.


End file.
